


Trial by Fire

by Z-Byte (ZetaDragon)



Series: The Time Before the League [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Feral, Fight Sex, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Gangbang, Human/Pokemon Relationship(s), Multi, Pokephilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 12:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZetaDragon/pseuds/Z-Byte
Summary: The Longest Day has come, and it is time for the Khatun, the tribal Empress of the Kings of the Sands, to once again prove her worthiness before the Eye Above.  Beneath that blinding gaze, she will meet with her three feral Champions and prove that she still has the strength, courage, and passion burning through her chest, rewarding the first to take her down with the rights to sit by her throne.  Along with other… perks.





	Trial by Fire

That warm Summer heat felt as good on Nitaya’s dark, tattooed skin as it always had before the Trial. The noon sun baked her feminine flesh, covered only in the glistening oils that preceded the rite. That powdered, glittering essence of the Fire Stones did little to protect her from the sweltering gaze from above. It would, however, serve her well when she met with her Kings and their Champions.

At the very least it would protect her from the brunt of their fire. For her sake, yes, though the brave warrior woman would argue that it was more for the peace of mind afforded the Champions. If they didn’t worry about injuring her, then, this Summer, they’ll give her a  _ real _ challenge.

Her fingers tightened on the shaft of her spear in anticipation.

She sauntered up with the powerful confidence a ruler should have, approaching the natural hall of her throne. Members of the other three beneath her rule knelt beside her path. This was her throne as reigning Khatun, up until the Longest Day. Now, here, the Eye Above can observe the passion, power, and commitment of its chosen monarch for the longest stretch through the canopy of the oasis’ trees. The volcano in its distant center was the seat of vibrant life in an otherwise desolate plain, making it a very holy site.

The wall of leather, wood and bone was all that stood in her way. That, and the kneeling forms of her three Maleks. Her Kings, rulers of those who ride and reign under the shadow of her great banner. Dressed in hide over their own tanned skin, the shade of the trees covered their shoulders as they waited for her. 

Their duty was to bring her worthy Champions. She would take their measure, both to be sure of their strength and to prove that their fire burned as bright as a leader’s should.

“Are my Champions prepared to receive me?”

One of the Malek stood, his bare chest showing the scars of battle and the markings of victory. Hung around his neck was a pendant made of a Fire Stone, glinting in the noon sun much like her own shimmering skin. 

“They are, Khatun,” he spoke, his voice as strong as his body. “Each of them proven in our own halls for the chance to be Witnessed. May you and the Eye find them worthy.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” she grinned, the large man nodding and standing aside to let her pass into the throne room. They would ensure that the Khatun and her Champions were not disturbed.

As the doors shut behind her, the shadow of the canopy darkened the simple grass floor leading up to beautiful throne before her. It wasn’t beautiful because the opening in the canopy illuminated it. It wasn’t beautiful because of its simple, effective design, a chair of wood sitting upon a small dais. 

No, it was her champions that made it beautiful. Her gorgeous monsters. Her powerful soldiers. Her smile dragged up her cheeks as she shifted the spear in her hand, planting the butt of it in the ground and the sharp tip point skywards.

“Greetings, my Champions.”

Three Pokemon, all canines, were draping themselves around her throne. An Arcanine had the distinction of being the largest. He lay on the left, his eyes as bright as the fire in his chest and his gaze matching its heat as it washed knowingly across her bare skin. On the right was a dark Houndoom, gazing over his shoulder with flippant amusement towards her. The ivory of its white bone plates reflected the sun above while his shadow-black fur drew it in and swallowed it. Resting atop the throne was a surprising sight, but no less welcome: a Flareon, its body fluffed and its large, sparkling eyes young and eager. At first glance, one would not expect this small male to join such large, powerful veterans of battle…

But he was a Champion all the same, and she would not underestimate any of them. 

“It looks like my Kings have selected well. The trial will be as it always has. Before the Eye Above, we will battle. Your flames against mine.”

The three males moved, the Arcanine lumbering from the dais and the Houndoom stretching himself like a lazy Pyroar before plodding his way forward. Flareon, his smile bright, rolled from the top of the throne to sit on it, his fluffed tail batting against its arm as he watched like a little King himself.

“Your task is to lay me low. My Champions should have the strength to haul the sun from the clouds and fill it with their heat. With the Eye as witness, I am your sun. Should I best you, your Kings will be removed from their seats for their incompetence, and you for your weakness…”

Her words had a hissing bite to them, one that made the Houndoom growl as his whip-like tail lashed behind him. The proud Arcanine retained his leering smile, of course, and a giggling chitter came from the young Flareon as he flipped from the seat of the throne, taking his place in the center of them all.

“I expect this fight, as well as your recent celibacies, will be more than enough to stir that drive within you all. The first to take me by the throat and pull me to the ground has the honor of sitting by my throne and the privilege of being the first to drown your heat inside of mine. The others… may get their turn. At your leisure, of course.”

The monsters all smiled at that, the Houndoom’s grin returning as he nodded in understanding. Of course they understood. Hunger is the language of Fire, and her tribe spoke it fluently. How many females had these males bred? Of their own kind? Of hers? Perhaps none. Perhaps countless. But all were forced to abstain from passion before this moment. That fire had to build so that it could be released!

Nitaya held her spear aloft, taking in a deep breath. Her eyes looked upon her males once more, letting their gazes meet hers and finding them all just as eager as she for this trial. 

The dark tattoo on her back, the mark of the royal patron, flickered, sparked, gleamed and finally ignited. A visage of the holy Volcarona burst to life and forged wings of flame to serve as a mantle for her dark, glittering shoulders. A blaze spread across her oiled skin, her connection to her distant companion boiling in her chest as her spear blossomed into a lotus of dancing heat.

“Come, Champions. Let us blind the Eye Above with our brilliance!”

And they came.

The Houndoom was first. Of course he was. He was so hungry. So greedy. She could see the drool on his lips reflecting the light of his fire as he whipped it towards her. She broke it with her spear, but could still feel the wanton bite of it aching to mark her skin. For his trouble, the butt of her spear found the underside of his jaw, the dull crack making him turn his head to deflect the force.

Flareon leaped into the air before her spear was ready and rained Embers across her skin, singeing the grass black with the surprising eagerness of his heat. The flames were so bright and playful that she could swear she heard them laughing in her mind as she finally brought her weapon forward to spin the rain of fire away from her. A happy grin was still plastered across the little scamp’s face. To him, this was a game!

She risked being distracted, and wheeled her spear up just in time for the flames to catch the Houndoom by the throat, the sneaky bastard trying to abuse her spark-blurred vision to his advantage. She could swear those two were working together, but that was against the spirit of this. It was a competition, after all! 

Her pole whipped and smacked the Flareon on his noggin, a dull clack and an annoyed chirp ringing out of his body with her success. He rolled back, giving her enough space to face the Arcanine. Ooh, the pride on that dog’s face. The force of his presence, both physical and immaterial, weighing on her shoulders as if he were mounting her with his eyes.

She wasn’t intimidated so easily. 

Nitaya lept for him, wings blazing and spear poised. For his size, he moved like lightning, her spear finding his thick fur more often than his strong frame. His paws weren’t quick enough to catch her, but his fangs, alight with his pride made manifest, got very close to digging into her nimble flesh. Their flames clashed, fought and danced with one another, each repelling the other’s advances and tossing them aside with a taunting force.

Their Khatun was not yet pressed. The massive wolf snapped towards her, only to find his jaws catch her spear. His massive maw wouldn’t open fast enough to keep her from turning, twisting, and using her leg to trip his fores, sending him rolling onto his side, back and to his paws on the other side of the abused, natural court.

Again, she could face them all. She turned and found the Houndoom sprinting, belting a line of flame at her feet. The flames were tall and licked at her inner thighs, a spark of distraction trying to worm its way up her spine as she gripped her spear harder to face him. 

It was then she felt the small paws of the Flareon on her back.

How?! When did he get behind her? The Houndoom was still running towards her and the smaller male’s fangs were nipping at the skin of her neck, trying to throw her off balance. She tossed her spear in the Houndoom’s path so that she could use both hands to snag the Flareon’s mane. With a heave, she chucked him towards her dark suitor as he leaped over her shaft. A frustrated pair of yelps came from both of them as she barely regained her footing. 

The fires beneath her feet faded quickly, revealing the Flareon’s pawprints in the ashes. He had dashed through the flames, using them as the ferals use tall grass in ambush. It wasn’t flames she felt between her thighs. It was his tail...

They  _ were  _ working together.

Nitaya frowned, looking to the Arcanine. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that this was less of a competition and more of a hunt. I’ve not seen you snap at one another a single time. Compensating for your weaknesses?”

She had hoped to wound their pride, but, as the other males stood, she found herself against a living bastion of their driving purpose. She had tasted their fires, found the hunger in the Houndoom’s, the glee in the Flareon’s and the stalwart pride of the Arcanine’s, but none of those fires conflicted. In fact, they were all now rising to try and meet hers. Dwarf hers. 

They meant to take their Empress’ soul to war.

Her spear was forsaken for the moment. On any other Longest Day, she could count on the stronger males pulling the lessers off her back. They wouldn’t want another to win, after all. But never before had she had to face all three Champions as she would face the united front of an enemy nation. It was appalling. It was an affront to their traditions.

The Empress’ fingers itched with the anticipation of this fight.

The flames along the dark woman’s back blazed brighter, twinges of blue meeting near her skin to put color to her passion. The game had not changed but the teams had gone from four to two. She was going to make them fight for every inch…

Moments went by as brilliant blurs. Whips of fire were lashing out. Sparks were tossed out in rushing bursts. The loud claps as jaws bit air and the heavy thuds of furry bodies getting rolled onto the ground. They kept her surrounded, but there was never a moment that they could approach without being forced aside by a well-aimed blast of flame or a fire-wreathed hand grasping, twisting, and throwing them aside. Her strength was bestial, feeding not only from the flames of her patron companion but also the torrential inferno around her. 

Arcanine could make her lose her footing, but she would regain it by taking his. 

Flareon was quick and nimble, but light. Easy to toss aside.

Houndoom’s ferocity was unmatchable but, if he got too close, his horns made far too excellent a hand-hold to aim his attacks towards his “companions.”

But no fire can burn forever.

Marks revealed themselves on the woman’s dark skin. Not burns, but cuts from teeth and claws that missed their mark but found consolation prizes nonetheless. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed. She couldn’t tell much at all. So lost in the battle, her body living out a final stand, hoping to bring one of them down to show the folly of their supposed alliance.

The Flareon found her ankle. A dodge to kick him off had the Houndoom at her wrist. She twisted to grab his horn, but the meaty paw of the Arcanine crushed her the ground.

Her breath left her, and fangs found her throat. Arcanine’s? She didn’t care whose they were. They were hot and wet, steaming with hunger, and she wasn’t much different between her thighs. She’d let herself get lost in the battle of her life, not knowing, or perhaps not caring, that feeding from their hungry flames had turned this war into a savage foreplay.

The flames on her dark skin went out as her breath returned. Traditionally, she would now profess her congratulations to the victor, send the other two males to the corner to nurse their wounds, and bask in the radiance of her true Champion. But it was all a blur. Nothing had calmed, not in her body and mind. Her flames had consumed her conscious thoughts. She still felt them in her veins. 

And then the first tongue came.

Broad. Small. Quick. Eager. Inexperienced. The Flareon darted his tongue against her clit again and again. Too quickly. Her hips moved to get away, but the paw on her back had not moved. It was all she could do. She was at the mercy of three males now. Their heat surrounded her. Their scent spicing the aroma of ash and oil…

The fangs lifted from her neck, and her vision cleared as she lifted her head, her breath catching as the Flareon’s muzzle buried against her needy slit, breathing deep of her. A familiar heart-colored shade of breeder flesh caught her eye as she stared forward, her gaze meeting the groin of the Arcanine who held her down. Only his tip was exposed, that dripping mare-splitter throbbing in victory as his knot swelled in its thick sheath. A bolt of hot pre whipped from it, landing in the blackened grass in front of her. 

That spike of musk stabbed straight into the deepest part of her mind, and the tongue between her thighs made sure that she couldn’t keep her gasping breath from leaving her lips. The base animal in her wanted to lick it from the ash, but some part of her was still their Empress. Though the prideful Champion didn’t even look down at her as his hips drew closer, it was her dignity as the defeated that parted her lips once more.

Dignity that was torn from her throat as the Flareon’s small, sharp claws found her hips and dug in, mounting her with the careless grace of instinct.

A growling chuckle resounded from her left, her eyes darting to the leering Houndoom moments before the Arcanine’s swollen sheath obscured her vision. Coarse fur brushed her cheek as slick, steaming cockflesh jabbed at her collarbone, his knot stretching the skin of his sheath against her brow. That solid bulb matched her head in size. How she wished that she had a mind to tease him. To toy with those special nerves and properly reward her Champion. But her thoughts were blackened ash, her mouth letting out a sudden cry as her cunt was stuffed with her first suitor. 

The small male jabbed deep and hard, his balls drumming her clit as his knotted cock slipped into her impatient pussy. She spread her thighs and lowered her hips without thinking, a switch being flipped in her mind to behave like the animal she was being taken as. Her moans were muffled by steaming flesh, her arm moving up to peel back the sheath of the Arcanine. Those open lips were able to find some purchase on his crimson skin but unable to little else than pant, lick and kiss in frantic worship. This wasn’t the thrill of rewarding her victor. This was the thrill of being  _ won _ . A prize. A spoil. Would her enemies treat her this way if she ever fell before them?

Likely. But not with such blissful passion.

Arcanine’s cock splashed more of his preseed across her shoulders and throat, prompting her to move her mouth to catch some. A single spray was a mouthful, barely swallowed before a second. A third. Her mouth could not open wide enough to take more than his tip in. She coughed as the Flareon’s knot jabbed at that honey-patch right inside of her. Gulp. Groan. Gasp. Cough. Spill. Her two halves belonged to two different worlds, one being ravaged by the constant drumming of youth while the other paying homage to primal strength and experience.

The frantic pumping of the young stud drove him that much deeper and his thrusts slowed. His knot swelled to its peak. His sheath squeezed against her clit. Her eyes rolled back, and her mouth left the Arcanine’s throbbing cock long enough to gasp out in molten relief as she felt those small claws drag into her skin and cling. A bubble of heat formed in her core, followed by another. Then another. Splashes. Hot. Wet. Splashes. Seed. Fire. Life. Tears of excess rolled down her cheek and smeared themselves against the smooth, rubbery skin of the massive breeder she clung to as she was filled with the pent up seed of this small yet potent male.

But her release did not free her of her duty. She tried to compose herself again, using this small moment of clarity to regain some of her stature. And then the Flareon did his tie-turn, rolling his hips around dismounting her while remaining tied. The desire for his knot to twist put constant pressure on her tunnel, creating a newfound itch as his member continued to thump his monster seed into her womb. She tried to lick at the Arcanine again, but his hips moved, the tip batting against her brow and soaking her face in his musk. Was he seeking relief or to mark her senses with his essence? She couldn’t say. Words were far beyond her at this point.

A second tongue. A single lick from a steaming maw. Houndoom. That little sneak had come up behind her! His tongue slapped against her ass and left a steaming trail of saliva running down her crack. She could barely catch a glimpse of him over her shoulder from behind the Arcanine’s ever present mitt on her back. She didn’t need to see him, though. She could feel him mounting her. 

Her heart raced. Her mind boiled with confusion, trepidation and excitement. His short fur dragged across her skin, and his low-hanging sheath slipped up and down her crack, teasing the slick breeder from its home to soak her tight ring in his pre. His lubrication. Nothing save her own curiosity had ever toyed with that hole, let alone a victor of the Longest Day. And yet here it was. Sharp. Slippery. No thicker than a man’s thumb. He could fit it in and use that hole as his own…

Never lose to a Dark soul.

It dug into her with all the kindness one could expect from the pit hound, his weight throwing his hips in all at once. She yelped, the stretch unfamiliar. But lust makes for a satisfying painkiller, and the dog was wise enough to stuff his unswollen knot into her tight ring before it could grow. 

Wise, and devious. It stetched her, pushing down on the knot in her sex, crushing every sensitive place within her. The impatient hound at her mouth continued to beat and smack his bitch-splitter against her dripping face with an idle swing of his hips. They were uncaring. Unceasing. 

Her mouth attached to his open, squirting tip, but gave up on swallowing, her belly starting to slosh with the product of those heavy orbs. Instead, she let her loud moans spill from her mouth with every burst of pre, the Houndoom finding his feral rhythm once he was well and truly buried inside of her. She didn’t know if it felt bad or good. That concept seemed as alien to her at the moment as language. Wet splashing, deep growling, the pop of heavy balls slapping bare skin… those were the only sounds her boiled mind could fathom. 

Everything else was focused on the  _ stretch. _

Full. That’s how she felt. How was she so full? How were those knots so big? How can her body handle the way they drag back and forth, almost touching one another if not for the thinnest barrier of flesh between them? How could anything be so damned hard? So damned deep!?

Slap, slap, slap, slap, first one a second. Then two. Then three. Drool fell onto her back as the Arcanine finally pulled his paw off of her, knowing that she no longer had the strength to do more than lift her hips. She dared not; the sensitive tugging of the Flareon’s knot was setting her on fire all over again. Did she ever stop burning? Had she cum? Was she still cumming? Her stomach ached. She had started swallowing again without realizing it. So full!

She… she couldn’t...

Her hands reached up to the mountain’s sheath and pulled it back, hands palming his knot in an attempt to free it. Her mind raced in desperation as she realized why the Arcanine wasn’t insistent on her getting him off. He planned on flooding her with his passion. She tried to reach behind his knot, tried to find those sweet spots to get him to hump between her breasts. To get him to finish. To cover her without as she was within.

But the Houndoom whipped his hips forward and shoved her face straight into the Arcanine’s heavy sack the moment she tried to get onto her hands. She grabbed those thick, furry thighs for leverage, but the titan wouldn’t let her hands toy with him any longer. She moaned and screamed against those stallion balls, getting only a mouthful of their aching flesh for her trouble. The monster’s pre rained down on her scratch-marked back like fire-touched oil. This was too much. They were too much! She was their Empress, damn it! She had to take control. She had to-!

A bite found her shoulder. Her breath seized and the Houndoom’s knot, buried so deep, pulled back to stretch her wider than ever before. She was at their mercy. She could tell by the way his base-vein thumped against her sore ring that he was seeding her ass. Everything else was numb.

Numb. Until he pulled his knot out, prying out the bulb of the Flareon’s from behind it in the same wicked motion. 

Her legs died, her hips falling flat to the ground to spill their stolen contents onto the black grass. Her arms gave out as well, her head falling free from the drool-soaked sack of her Arcanine Champion. Everything was burned out of her. She felt like a husk of cooked meat. Her vision blurred. Her thoughts followed suit. 

What was that around her throat. A rope of fur? A collar and leash? A tail. She was getting pulled somewhere by the Houndoom. Her hands and knees moved of their own accord. Where was he taking her? 

Oh. It was a throne. Her throne. She was led like an unbroken feral to the seat of power, the Eye Above still shining down on its wooden surface. Her vision unclouded enough to see the Flareon and the Houndoom sitting near it, smiling as she took hold of the sturdy chair. 

Was it over? Did she want it to end? What did she want? What did  _ they  _ want? What could their Empress do for her Champions?

Two massive paws settled atop hers, a mass of wet fur pressing into her back. She stumbled and hugged the strong chair, its legs secured to the dais. Her fuck-beaten mind regained just enough form to remind her of the unsated one. She was still sore. She still leaked. A steaming tongue found her neck and a dripping breeder nudged against her royal cunt.

Her mouth opened. She didn’t know what she was going to say. A command to stop? A call for the guards? A beg to drown that undying itch that somehow still remained within her?

The largest Champion seemed to wait for her response. Her words melted into a breath, and she answered him with a roll of her hips, toying his sharp, thick cock against the mouth of her fertile oven.

Let the Eye witness this. 

A single thrust blackened her vision. Her strong arms held onto the back of her chair, her tattoos gleaming again as this monster dug another inch out of her. And another. Another. The seed of the Flareon, her own spit, and the gushing pre of the Arcanine made her resistance moot. 

The spade-shaped tip of his womb-hunter filled her like the knot of the Flareon. Every noise from her was either a gasp for air or a grunt as it was driven out of her lungs. His titanic paws hugged the chair along with her, as if it was his true prize and she was the surrogate hole he was getting off in.

Madness blazed along with her skin. He wanted her throne? He’d have to work for it! She pushed back, kicking off from the chair to try and shove him deeper. 

  
_Split me. Spill me. Stake your claim, if you can. Give me your fire, dog. I will shine all the brighter for it!_

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. He dove at her like an equine trying to club her womb into submission. Her flames licked against the chair as she felt her stomach thump against its seat, her body bulging with his girth. It was as insatiable as she! Her heart was as hungry as a furnace, and it would devour all he had to offer.

_ All! _

She reached back and took hold of his fur, letting her legs drop into his thrusts. The bouncing made her leap up again. Gravity and need yanked her back down. Insanity and its pleasure burned in her eyes as her blessed markings burned without need for the oil that was lost in the battle. Arcanine continued punching his hips upwards into her, her belly smacking against the throne as she reveled in this newfound power.

To accomplish the impossible by bonding with the greatest Champions of the realm. That was the gift of her position as Khatun!

Her hips rolled, bounced, and dropped, and, again, her flames blazed blue for a single, brilliant moment. Her eyes rolled back, her arms reaching out to catch the throne. She tried to bounce up, to fit his knot into her. She couldn’t rise. Confused, she slipped her hand down and felt, above her mons, the solid lump of a proper tie. 

She tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but found the breath difficult. Everything was… tight. Stretched. Full. She felt nothing within her other than a molten heat. She reached her hand to her core, the tip of this mass of warm skin, and felt it thumping and thudding against her fingertips from within. He was seeding her. He was filling her…

Within seconds, the swell became larger. Fluid drowned her. She felt like a waterskin bloated from the stream. Why didn’t it hurt? Why were her eyes still open? Had she burned out? Had the Eye found her worthy and taken her? Was she found wanting by breaking tradition?

She felt her lips curl into a smile, her stifled lungs able to belt out a single chuckle. No. This was the will of the Eye Above. Her blurred eyes cleared, and in that clarity she saw the two males by the throne and the one still above her, serving as a throne himself. She did not hurt because she had found a new strength. She’d surrendered to their fire and consumed it, just as she had when she first accepted Volcarona as her patron…

This was not right and ritual. This was… tangible. Visceral.

She licked her lips, looking to the enraptured Flareon and tapped her fingers on the seat of the throne.

“F-finished… after one, Champion? We… have… nn… until the Eye closes… and I… hah… I’m not…”

Despite her strength, her words were still found lacking. But the understanding in the young male’s gleaming eyes was clear. They didn’t need words anymore. He hopped onto the throne, cock dripping, knot half-deflated, but still looking as eager as before.

She was filled to every corner of her being with the seed of these males… but Fire is Hunger, and her cooled lips have need of that precious burn once more…

\------------------------------------------------------------

“Mm. It’s sweeter than I expected,” Nitaya stated, looking at the strange cup of thin stone the pale stranger had offered her. “What did you call it? Tea? You say this is made of boiled leaves?”

“Yes,” responded the young man, who appeared once to have been wearing robes, but has since shed them in the desert heat. He was now kneeling upon them and wearing naught but smallclothes in his modesty. “It is bitter, but I tend to add honey to sweeten it.”

“...Owning sweet things are a sign of wealth, shaman,” replied the Khatun, stroking the Flareon in her lap as the Arcanine behind her loomed over the throne. Her Houndoom was curled up by her feet as normal, but his eyes were attentive towards this traveler and their… companion.

“Would that I had more to show for it, Khatun Nitaya,” responded the pale, shirtless human, his own Houndoom’s head resting on his shoulder. The black bitch was staring at the three males with the sort of teasing contempt that the Empress herself offered those who sought her throne. There was power behind those eyes sly, leering eyes. Sinful, molten strength. She saw herself in them. Perhaps there was something more to this shaman...

He continued. “I wish for guidance but I’ve little to offer, myself. I know I am not of your tribe, but your people’s mastery over the shard markings is important to me. I wish to grow stronger with my companions by my side.”

“Mm. Our secrets are ours, shaman,” replied the woman, a curt tightness in her voice. “Only those of our tribe can hope to learn them, and, from our number, few receive the marks. We do not teach those who seek power. We welcome those who have it.”

“I see. I thank you, regardless, for your hospitality,” he said, giving one of his culture’s “bows” in reverence. She nodded her head, but, before she could speak, his Houndoom growled and chattered. 

“No, it’s quite alright,” he spoke, not to the Khatun but to his companion. “We are in their home. Be respectful.”

Nitaya blinked. “What game is this, shaman?”

“Hm?”

She gestured with her hand. “Your female. You hear her words?”

“I… well yes. One of the reasons I’m studying these bonds is because-”

“You talk too much,” interrupted the Empress, the shaman’s Houndoom letting out a growling laugh at those words. “Are you a warrior?”

“I… can fight.”

Nitaya stood, the Flareon hopping off of her lap with a clumsy, surprised tumble. “I have never faced a warrior from beyond the sands. You shaman are such feeble, frail folk. Are you willing to win your prize through combat?”

The female Houndoom stood and barked, answering for her human. He smiled and nodded, standing with her. “I am, Khatun Nitaya. I will defeat any challenger you put before me in order to get what I seek.”

“Mmm, now you are humoring me, shaman. But we’ll see if I can put the lie in your words or if you’re speaking the truth before me and the Eye Above.”

She then gestured to the four fellow tribesmen that were joining her within her open court, serving as both guard and company. “These are my personal warriors. Each of them have knowledge of what you seek. If you want it, then prove that you do not need it. Defeat them. Defeat me. And take your prize!”

“...What. Right now?” The young man asked, looking down at the teapot between them, then to the other warriors, whose eyes were darting to one another. They seemed surprised by their leader’s sudden passion.

Nitaya paused, her heat deflating a bit. “...Perhaps… after the tea,” she said, trying not to fumble as she sat back down. “And you’re… likely tired from your trek across the sands of course. Apologies, shaman. The last Longest Day filled me with more fire than Summers past. The prospect of challenging you.. excites me.”

Looking around, the young man gave a small cough as his cheeks reddened at the word “excites”, then nodded and knelt, reaching for the tea cup. “It’s quite alright. Oh, and you can call me Adon.”

“Right. Adon.” She took an awkward gulp of the steaming, sweetened drink. Her dark skin didn’t do much to hide her own blush.

“Mmhmm…” Adon takes a much smaller sip of his tea, cooling both it and the moment with quiet breath across the rim of the cup.

The Houndoom bitch shook her head and rolled her eyes. Humans really do talk too much.

They should fuck and get this over with.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Someone's PC Patreon.
> 
> Visit us here for more art and stories!
> 
> https://www.patreon.com/someonespc


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